friends
those with whom we shared our stories
it’s time to farewell
i’m sorry

I’ve decided to seek the truth
So, I must stop the storytelling
We shared that amazing youth
That gave birth to my rebellion
Taught me how to be alright with being wrong
Showed me the ways, which I could belong

Smart goals and networks are not for me
My desire is abstract and unknown freedom
That exists nor in the city or in the family
But, surely, near those magic trees in edem
The core intention is to accumulate the vitality
Breaking through the walls of civil mentality

my final destination is the state of self
where all stuff sorted on the one shelf
where the body is a temple
spirit is a whole
nature is the teacher
and words are under control
where the only currency is energy
time is absolute
where the only possession is awareness
and love is a root

so, guys, our story ends
now,
death is my only friend

A single seed is buried beneath the soil.
Nurtured by its home.
It grows from a dot
To an arm reaching for the sky.

The apples dangle by a thread.
Some fall to the ground and serve as dinner to deer.
Some are ripped from their suspension by
Human hands for a snack.

Selflessness. To give gifts with
Receiving nothing in return.
Take opportunities
And make something out of them.

Pear on the coffee table
Apple on the counter
A loaf of bread
On the unmade bed.
My heart in your fridge,
Half broken, half dead.


-- Eleanor

Stone-like, steel eyes
biting down the
sweet, polished apple.
Silky smooth skin slithering
on the thoughts of the tempted.
Desire of the improper,
cause conflicts to the conflicted.
Poison awaits,
with 2000 different faits.

No one
Would think less of you
If you did not know
He cries every night
For the universe rests in his hands
The sounds and colors
The people the feelings
So many images all right there
In the palm of his hands
Yet no words do it justice
He can try
But he only feels failure
He can see it all in a second
Its all so real
He can almost touch it
In his mind
He practices
Holding an apple in his hand
He turns it green
And blue
Yellow
Red
Orange
Black
He gives it wings
Throwing it
With all his force
All his anger
Every bit of firey passion be has
He throws it
And watches it float down golden hills
Into a chasam
Then gliding up mountain winds
Meeting each cloud
With the kiss
Only an apple could give
Sweet and sharp
Crisp, clean and pure
Despite all this
Despite seeing the apple
And its winged journey
All he feels is failure
He has failed to truly show you
The beauty of the apples colors
The shine of the golden fields
The drop of the chasam
And the rise of the mountains
The glorius meeting
Of apple and cloud
A sight deserving of scripture
But a sight only he can see
No one would blame you
If you did not know
He cries every night